


Such a little thing, a foolish ring

by tranquilsea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Outing, Bucky Barnes Family / Descendants, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Random & Short, Sad Ending, Secret Marriage, Short & Sweet, Steve Rogers Is Secretly Married, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Is Not Helping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:57:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tranquilsea/pseuds/tranquilsea
Summary: There's a picture of Captain America wearing a wedding ring in the morning's newspapers.It was foolish of Tony to hire the journalist who exposed the story.When Captain America openly admits his marriage to one James "Bucky" Barnes, Hydra tests their greatest weapon's loyalty.





	1. The Picture

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a plot bunny that has spiraled into something a little bigger. It will probably 1-3 chapters max, just focusing on the idea that Steve has been wearing a ring for Bucky as soon as he heard gay marriage was legal.
> 
> As I wrote this story, it took on a life on its own. I've updated the tags and the blurbs to reflect these changes.
> 
> As always, I do not own any MCU characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's pictures of Captain America in every newspaper. 
> 
> It's of his wedding ring. 
> 
> Tony immediately hires the journalist who took them.

 There was a blown-up picture of him on the front page of every newspaper.

Not that it was unusual to find Captain America plastered across most newspapers these days. Fury and SHIELD claimed it was part of “an ongoing Avengers Image Campaign” but Steve felt it was actually a “Steve plus the Occasional Avenger Campaign” judging by the amount of times it was his face that was used next to headlines he didn’t quite approve of.

With a sigh, Steve began to set down the newspaper and start eating his breakfast. Then he looked at the newspaper again. And looked a lot closer.

It was a picture of him at the latest Avenger’s conference. He had coerced by Stark into wearing fancy dark navy-blue suit and looked uncomfortable in it. He was earnestly looking at the camera, his hands gesturing to the glistening promotional pictures from the recent Battle of New York fundraisers on the large TV screen behind him. He remembered that conference, and his embarrassment at having to endure the host’s probing questions about his personal life and the many fans who accosted him.

Next to this picture was a blurry enhanced image of his hand, with a small, slender golden band around his ring finger.

“Ah, the old ‘photoshop a ring’ technique. I remember when journalists used to cook up the most elaborate stories. That’s how Happy and I are happily married according to the New York Tribune,” laughed Stark as he read the article over Steve’s shoulder.

As usual Stark had just strode from his bedroom half naked, a long red nightgown only enhancing – ahem- certain attributes. He waved a coffee pot in front of Steve’s face, perfectly content to showing almost everything as he did so.

“Coffee?”

“No thanks,” Steve automatically replied, absorbed in reading the article, his face peering closer and closer at the picture every few minutes.

“Relax, Mr. America,” drawled Stark as he poured himself a generous cup of coffee and inhaled it in one go. Pouring another one, he explained: “Gossip rags like The Tribune are always creating drama. Tomorrow there will be an article on why Black Widow has gone blonde.”

“But that isn’t even _real_ ,” muttered Steve as he reluctantly set aside the offending newspaper.

“Hold the phone!” exclaimed Stark, jumping in front of Steve. He flashed a quick ‘time-out’ signal as best as he could with the overflowing cup of coffee in one hand. “Are you saying that this-“ he swung his mug dramatically in the direction of the article- “is _real_?”

“Of course,” Steve replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“JARVIS! We have to throw a party for Capsicle and his chosen Princess! Wait, does she know you’re you? Oooh, is that why none of the team or SHIELD know?  I’m not sure if I’m impressed or disappointed that you’ve managed to hide it for-“

“Nearly seventy years,” replied Steve dryly.

“Right, for seven years, and now some enterprising journalist from a hack newspaper has found you out?  JARVIS, could you find their contact details and offer them a new job in our marketing division? The Tribune is clearly not utilizing their talents correctly…”

As Stark excitedly babbled on, pacing back and forth while JARVIS mildly confirming his requests, Steve resumed his breakfast. It was a very Stark thing to get distracted by something more exciting in his eyes.

Plucking up the newspaper, Stark was dancing around the kitchen as he extrapolated his theories: “Of course, if the ring was made from a sliver of vibranium, you could theoretically hide it using advanced field technology, but where would you get even enough to make a ring, the last was used in that circular boomerang of yours?  But assuming, in principle, you had squirreled some away, then you would be almost guaranteed no-one would be able to see it unless they excited the particles at the right frequency. It’s practically genius. JARVIS, make sure to add a generous signing bonus, will you? Pepper’s gonna love this!”

“Of course sir,” replied the voice of the AI, “I have amended the contract as specified to a ‘generous’ two-“ Stark flapped his hands impatiently “-four grand bonus,” finished JARVIS smoothly.

“Great!” exclaimed Stark, beaming down at Steve in triumph. “Problem solved, icicle man.”

“You’ve hired the journalist, Tony. I don’t see how that’s solved the problem,” replied Steve quizzically.

“Bigger picture, Captain, bigger picture,” crowed Stark. “How else could the journalist captured the ring? _Because they are your other half!_ I can see it now, the romantic reunion between you and- “

Tony snapped his fingers as JARVIS helpfully supplied: “Miss Margaret Rebecca Buchannan, age 33.”

“Right! It’s practically destiny, you falling for a twenty first century Peggy. JARVIS, do you think we could hire a ghost writer to write the novelisation of this Jane Austen level of romance? It should be called something wonderfully stupid, like _Love Comes Again_ or _Thawed Hearts_.”

“Sir, you are referring to your favourite soft-porn films.”

“Even better!” grinned Stark. “I would make millions. We could hire one of the Chrises! Hell, we could hire all three!”

“Sir, I hate to interrupt your creative genius, but Mr. Rogers has left the building,” interjected JARVIS, halting Stark’s animated ramblings.  He waved off the AI’S warning with an off-hand comment: “Probably ran away at the mention of porn. Have you informed Pepper about the change in management?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I play the recording?”

“Ouch. Is it that bad?”

“Sir, I would recommend the _Holiday to France_ package for this particular debacle.”

Sighing, Stark plopped himself messily on one of the nearby kitchen bar stools. “Okay, J, hit me with it.”

“ _Anthony Stark, for a genius, you are an undeniable moron. For once use that oversized melon of yours and actually think like us normal people. Margaret Rebecca Buchannan, Tony? Honestly-“  
_

“Mute, JARVIS.  Did she say ‘Buchannan’?”

“Actually, I did, sir. A mere two minutes ago.”

“Go ahead on the _Holiday to France_ package. And up the offer again for Ms. Buchannan.”

“Already done.”

 

 


	2. The Reporter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Steve Rogers talks to a reporter about his wedding ring. 
> 
> The reporter is his dead husband's great-great-niece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story started as a plot bunny that has spiraled into something a little bigger. It will probably 1-3 chapters max, just focusing on the idea that Steve has been wearing a ring for Bucky as soon as he heard gay marriage was legal.
> 
> As always, I do not own any MCU characters.

 Captain Steve Rogers was talking to a reporter while drinking a cup of badly made coffee. It was the most normal thing Steve had done for a while, except for the fact that the reporter he was talking to was his best friend’s great-great-niece. He took another long sip from his coffee, wishing that he had taken up Stark’s offer to invent a type of coffee fit for “Captain Icicle”. Instead, he had taken to purposefully requesting bad coffee for it to have some effect on him.

“So, Peggy, huh?” he asked politely. The poor woman across from him looked petrified. Her wide brown eyes were the exact shade of Bucky’s.

“Yes, Captain, Sir,” she yelped, “I didn’t mean to do it. My boss found the photos and put them in the article before I could do anything. Then he said he was going to fire me if I didn’t write something to go along with and I-”

Steve held up a hand to stop the woman’s non-stop apologetic babbling.

“It’s ok, Miss Buchannan,” he replied, “we all make mistakes sometimes. It’s what we do about them that counts.”

“Wow,” breathed the reporter, “you really are just a pure cinnamon roll, aren’t you?”

“I’m just a man who tries to do the right thing, Miss Buchannan.”

The reporter nodded, her previous fright fading away as Steve continuously reassured her that he wouldn’t ‘Punch her like Hitler’.  Margaret Rebecca Buchannan was a moderately pretty young woman, with shoulder length brown hair. In her dark business suit, she fit in with the rest of the office workers who had popped into a busy local café for their lunch hour. Beside her on the table was a purple notebook, rammed with notes, business cards, and clippings from other news articles.

“How’d you figure it out?” asked Steve once the young lady had pulled herself together after her initial shock of meeting the ‘Freaking Captain of the Howling Commandos’.

“I didn’t,” she replied immediately, looking Steve directly in the eye. “I think _he_ did.”

“Who?” asked Steve, even though he knew the answer. “Tony? He was just as surprised as I was when he saw your photo. I don’t know anyone else who coulda done it, unless it was Doctor Erskine, but they told me he died a while ago.”

“No,” Peggy answered, giving him a sympathetic and understanding smile as if she knew how much Steve’s heart had leapt in hope at her answer. “Bucky of course.”

Something -guilt, remorse, loss, hope – flitted across the Captain’s face, before he managed a more neutral expression. “He’s dead.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Peggy, excitedly, attracting the attention of some of the other patrons of the café. “Exactly,” she repeated, in a more subdued tone, “only, I don’t think most people know he’s been officially declared dead twice.”

Steve leaned back in his seat. “I thought it would have been common knowledge. Tony showed me my online biography which outlines the various missions I undertook with the Howling Commandos. I’m sure there were whole paragraphs about Bucky’s capture with Hydra.”

There was. Steve had read and re-read the articles, hoping that there was something he had missed, some other way the mission and the inevitable ride on the train cart could have gone down. Apparently, according to the many WW2 historians, Bucky’s death was a small price to pay for what could have happened in the winter of 1945.

“Both you and I know what they’ve written about you in the history books is just the crust on that pie,” retorted Peggy.

“When my Grandma died, we found her collection of letters. She had boxes and boxes of them- from you and Bucky. But there was none from the time period around when Bucky was captured. It was only later I learnt the MoD had marked them as secret because they didn’t want anybody to know their so called golden boy was driven by their decision to abandon Bucky’s squadron to their fate.”

“They were going to leave them to die. I wasn’t going to let that happen,” explained Steve. “It wasn’t just Bucky I was rescuing, it was boys who had lived on the same street as me, or men married to the woman who made my boots.”

“But Bucky was dead when you found him.”

“Almost. It was a near thing. When I saw his ashen face and limp arm, I knew I couldn’t go on without him, and slipped a ring on his finger before he could say no.”

Peggy nodded solemnly. “Which is why I was able to guess the date combination to reveal your ring, and started this whole mess.”

Steve good naturedly waved away her apology. “It was going to happen eventually. I’m surprised the press hasn’t already jumped down both our throats.”

“The press?” asked Peggy, confused.

“They think we’re married,” explained Steve and laughed at her surprise.

“Holy shit, what am I going to do? What are you going to do?”

Steve looked contemplative as he gazed at the busy customers going in and out of the thriving Manhattan café. “The world has changed now. I think it’ll manage if a kid from Brooklyn gets to tell the real story.”

“No, I don’t think so,” muttered Peggy under her breath. “You’re going to break the internet overnight.”

“Plus, as a new employee in Stark Industries Marketing Division, you’ll have exclusive rights to the story.”

Peggy stared blankly at him.

“Check your phone,” suggested Steve kindly.

Fishing it out of a large messenger bag handing out of her chair, Peggy stared at her phone as the messages popped up one after another with continuous dings.

“Embrace your mistakes, Peggy,” advised Steve. “That’s all we can do.”

Putting down her phone, Peggy took a deep breath and opened the notebook beside her.

“So, Mr. Rogers, tell me the real story.”

“See, I was a small, scrawny kid living in Brooklyn…” as Steve spoke, Peggy scribbled away in quick shorthand.

Steve didn’t mention that he had actually injected a small amount of his own blood to revive Bucky. Sometimes, he dreamt that the serum had worked on Bucky too, and he would be reunited with his husband. But that was just a day-dream. It was time he took his own advice and embraced his mistakes.

He was sure when he returned to the Avengers tower, Tony would have packed his bags and commandeered the Stark jet to send Steve to some glamorous, glitzy location courtesy of Stark Industries. Steve smiled- maybe he could go to France, and finally place his ring where it belonged, with Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote this chapter, my original plot bunny changed slightly so that Steve actually married Bucky during WW2. I assumed he would be smart enough to hide the ring(s) using one method or another during the war and then further into the 21st century.
> 
> There are hints here and there for eventual Winter Solider spoilers! This is the official last chapter, but I am planning to add in a short 'bonus' chapter about the Winter Solider.


	3. The Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once a year, a golden ring appears on the Winter Solider's hand. This year, it happens when the Winter Solider is on a mission.

There was a glinting golden ring set in the dull metal that formed his hand.

The Winter Solider admired it for a moment. The small sliver of bright metal would appear only once a year on the exact same date. He never mentioned its magical appearance to his Handlers – they were sure too strip it from his finger without regard for the delicate machinery that formed his prosthetic arm.

The prospect of the painful procedure wasn’t as worrying as the endless questions he would be asked by the technicians and other Hydra specialists. The Winter Solider preferred questions with easy answers such as ‘The target has been neutralised’ and so did Hydra.

It made it easier for all parties to keep the lines of communication to a simple minimum.

The buzz in his ear reminded him to focus on the task at hand. Unzipping the heavy black bag strapped across his back, the Winter Solider began to assemble his sniper rifle as his latest Handler prompted him with a list of his mission parameters:

“Proceed to the northeast corner. Target will be entering the left-hand corner office, tenth floor at approximately 14:00 hours. Neutralize target with minimal repercussions. Once target has been neutralized, proceed to Hancock Street, West, for debrief. Confirm, Operative?”

“Confirmed, Handler,” replied the Winter Solider as he finished setting up his sniper rifle in just the right position. The quiet humming tone from his ear piece was the only indication that his Handler was still listening in. This usually meant that the mission was more complicated and had a high likelihood of attracting unwanted attention. But this mission was a simple one for an assassin of the Winter Soldier’s calibre: just an ordinary elimination of some political figure or other.

He shrugged it off. Sometimes Hydra insisted on keeping tabs on him, like he was some kind of feral wolf who still needed to be tamed. But whoever he had been before he lost his arm was gone, and all that remained was the Winter Solider and his odd little ring.

He peered through the rifle’s scope to make sure his bullet would hit Hydra’s intended target. It was aimed squarely at the back of a plush office chair which faced an over-sized oak desk. On the wall across the desk, a large widescreen TV was playing the news.

The Winter Solider glanced at his watch. He still had ten minutes or so before his target was meant to enter his line of sight. He settled himself against the uncomfortable surface of the roof-top he had picked out for this mission and watched the television of the man he was about to execute.

As Hydra’s premiere assassin, he usually didn’t have time to relax. He typically spent most of his free time training, preparing for the next hit, or being frozen as a block of ice for future use. He allowed himself this small measure of fun.

On the screen was Hydra’s Enemy Number 01, Captain Steve Rogers. The blonde-haired villain was smiling, talking about something that made his whole face light up. Probably ‘truth, justice, and the American way’. The host he was talking to didn’t seem happy about whatever nonsense Rogers was spouting and kept angrily interjecting. Unfortunately, the evil Rogers was well versed in deception and was calmly able to deflect the host’s suspicions.

Their interview was coming to an end when the host flashed up a picture of Roger’s blurry hand, with a golden band around his finger.

It was the exact same shade as his own.

“Operative, respond!” demanded the voice of his Handler. “Your window of opportunity is closing.”

Startled, the Winter Solider blinked. Somehow the target had entered the room he had been monitoring without him noticing.

“Target has entered the room,” the Winter Solider informed his Handler so his incessant screeching ‘Confirm’ would stop. He squeezed the trigger and prepared himself for the powerful recoil.

Nothing.

He tried again.

“Damn,” he cursed. His arm must have somehow malfunctioned. He quickly examined it, and almost leapt up in fright. The small golden band on his finger had somehow grown, and now covered his hand in a thin layer of bright coloured metal. He experimentally flexed his fingers, and his hand responded as he expected. He then tried to fire again, but his fingers froze in place, unable to process the Winter Soldier’s commands to neutralise Hydra’s target.

With dawning horror and fascination, the Winter Solider realised each time he attempted to fire, the gold section of his arm would expand. Now most of his arm up to his elbow was covered with the strange gold metal.

“Operative, report,” commanded his Handler.

“No,” he replied. But it wasn’t his familiar voice. It was strange and almost American.

“Repeat, Operative?” The voice at the other end was dangerous and cold. It promised more than threats when he returned to base. For some reason, there was a sick feeling in his stomach, and he wanted desperately to respond ‘Yes’.

But the American voice replied for him. “No.”

At this, there was a brief silence on the other end. Then a new voice, German, took over, and began reciting a litany of strange words: “ <Longing. Rusted. Furnace->”

Something – perhaps the long dormant wolf that Hydra still feared – spoke. “He’ll come for me! My Steve will come for me!”

The German continued his relentless refrain: “ <Seventeen. Benign. Nine. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.>”

There was a pause. “<Operative, resume mission.>”

“<Of course,>” replied the Winter Solider and fired at the target. It was a relatively painless death as deaths went.

He put away his tools and slung the bag back over his shoulder. Making sure he wouldn’t be seen by the various security and surveillance cameras dotted around the roof top, he began to make his way to the rendezvous.

The Winter Solider paused and looked at his dull metallic arm and his dull metallic fingers. Its appearance nudged his memory for some reason, but he shrugged it off. Usually, once a year it would act up on him. He was confident the technicians at Hydra would be able to resolve the latest glitch.

“<Winter Solider proceeding to debrief>” he informed his Handler.

“<Confirmed. Hail Hydra.>”

His mission must have been more vital than he had assumed. His Handler’s sign-off had been more smug than usual, which implied Hydra had scored another victory against the enemy.

A victory for Hydra was a victory for the Winter Solider.

“<Hail Hydra.>”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I do not own Marvel or any of its associated characters.
> 
> The purpose of the Winter Solider's mission in this chapter is not killing his target, but proving that he can be controlled even though Captain America, Steve Rogers, has publicly admitted he was married to one James "Bucky" Barnes. 
> 
> I had originally intended for this fic to be humorous and fluffy, but it ended up taking me in the other direction.
> 
> <> Indicates German.


End file.
